


Custodes (unfinished)

by Morgan_Dhu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Novel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-12 01:50:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20163709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Dhu/pseuds/Morgan_Dhu
Summary: Rumours of treasonous plots by a frontier general have brought imperial spy Tabhair ni Caryn to the frontier town of Cor Ysryn.  Meanwhile, a former apprentice Mage named Sherrenyi struggles under a curse as well as under banishment from the Mage School.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tabhair ni Caryn, Imperial spy, lounges in a tavern in the frontier city of Cor Ysryn and watches the patrons.

Chapter One

Tabhair ni Caryn, Eye of the Golden Empire, Hand of the Jade Throne, Adherent of the Onyx Order of the Tighe anHwan and therefore among many other things a professional spy and assassin, was hard at work; at the moment, that work seemed to consist of lounging, apparently half-drunk, in the seediest bar she had seen in quite some time, in a town so far from the centre of the Empire that her next report would take months to travel back along her path. Dressed in scuffed and faded travel leathers, wrapped in a well-worn cloak, with a plain-hilted sword and scarred scabbard buckled at her waist, she appeared to all the world - or at least the inhabitants of this corner of it - much like any other down-at-the-heels mercenary who was none too choosy about where her next gold piece came from. 

It was a pleasant mid-summer's evening, and the light from a westering sun penetrated the tavern's interior through unshuttered windows. Outside, the day-time bustle of the busy frontier town that was Cor Ysryn had begun to wane. Shopkeepers eased their customers out of doors, locking up their wares and seeking their homes. Vendors in the great market squares folded up tents and carts and turned their beasts towards the city gates. Travellers concluded their business for the day and sought out their places of rest. Another day of labour was ending, for most. Within the walls of The Worried Ferret, the activities of the night were beginning. 

Tabhair slouched in her chair, her back to the wall, at the very end of the rough-hewn wooden counter behind which the taverner laboured over his tunnes and casks and dusky bottles, and contemplated her surroundings through half-lidded eyes. In the two candlemarks that had passed since she had ensconced herself, the number of patrons had grown from a handful to perhaps a third of the tavern's capacity; and the number continued to grow.

Dark and poorly appointed, the Worried Ferret offered few evident charms to its customers. The furnishings that greeted those patrons were for the most part strictly functional, and so clearly mismatched that they likely represented several generations of replacements for damaged parts. A handful of carved chairs showing signs of clumsy repair and one well crafted table, now sadly scratched and scarred, could be found amid the uneven trestle-boards and splintered benches, suggesting that once this had been an inn of quality, but no longer. 

The walls were bare plaster, old and worse for wear, with more than a few cracks visible. A few patches of plaster less discoloured by smoke and grime hinted at a past in which ornaments had lightened the walls, but nothing of that sort remained. A handful of torches guttered smokily in unpolished brackets set at regular intervals in the wall behind the counter; throughout the remainder of the room, thick greasy candles waited on tables to be lit - or not - by the patrons, leaving the furthest corners of the room in near darkness. A last surviving relic of better days gone by, there was a wooden stage next to the hearth, where once minstrels might have played; unlit and cluttered with crates and unused furniture, it was no longer a space that any performer would care to lay claim to. And yet, despite the lack of care in furnishings, and the absence of even the most common of entertainments, the wine was decent, the rakha clear and strong, the food fresh and well-prepared, and the serving men and maids quick and quiet. 

As for the taverner himself, the thin, wiry man went about his tasks with an economy of motion and sureness of touch that was somehow soothing to the eye. So practised was he that he seemed never to look for a bottle, or goblet. He simply reached, and poured. As he moved from shelves to counter and back again, the expression on his face remained constant, non-committal. He seemed a man as economical with his words as he was with his motions: an occasional terse greeting for a familiar patron, a curt phrase of approval or admonishment to the serving men and maids, but little else. As Tabhair watched him, she was certain that he also was a watcher, and that little escaped his eye, and even less escaped his lips.

Suddenly, she heard the clatter of hooves on the paving stones outside in the courtyard, as a party of guests rode back to the stables behind the tavern. A strangely sibilant voice shouted from the laneway that ran back from the street, "Boyheee! Ss'able boyhee! fheed 'heese bheesdz while wheee dhrink!"

There was some commotion, sounds of three, perhaps four people dismounting, and fading hoofbeats as the horses were led away. Then the side door was roughly jerked open and the dregs of daylight shone into the tavern over and around the man-high partition that kept wind and rain from entering with each customer. Framed in the light, the oddest assortment of persons Tabhair had seen since leaving the Capital thrust themselves past the windscreen and into the room. 

First in was a squat and sturdy creature bearing over his shoulder an iron axe almost as large as he; both stature and build marked him as one of the G'nash. These were a short and hardy people known for their mines and metalworks buried deep beneath the slopes of the Werrinyi Mountains whose ranges rose sharply in the west beyond the walls of Cor Ysryn. Clearly a familiar guest, he shouted to the man behind the bar as he approached it. "Ho, Grolf! I see no one's burned this pest-hole down yet! How much do you bribe the Health Commissioners to keep it open, anyway?" 

The taverner allowed the faintest of smiles to flicker across his visage. "Just enough, G'narik" he replied, reaching beneath the counter for a clear flagon of something dark green and slightly frothing. He tilted his head a fraction in inquiry.

The G'nash slapped his broad hands on the counter. "You know that's the only drink I'll take from you. Everything else in this termite-ridden dung-heap is pure poison. Speaking of poison, I'll take a couple jars of that cat-puke you call rakha and a pitcher of the closest swill you have to wine for my friends over there." He jerked his head toward three others who had followed him in, and who now clustered about one of the larger tables in the centre of the room. 

Two of the occupants of the table were of a race Tabhair had never seen before, but recognized at once from drawings and descriptions. Almost human in appearance, save for highly visible wolf-like fangs and a thick mane of coarse hair that grew not only on their heads but also their shoulders, running down bared backs almost to their waists, they were Ghonishi clansmen. Nomandic warriors from the vast grasslands beyond the Werrinyi Ranges, when not battling with themselves or their neighbours, they followed the migrations of giant herds and traded in furs.

The final member of the G'nashman's party was one of the exotic Ierrinyi: giant, winged creatures rarely seen away from their mountain peaks. This one's wings were tightly folded against its back, but it flared the bright red feathers around its face as it called out to its companion at the bar. "Wheee dhrink, 'Narheek, shall wheee alsso eeat?"

The Ghonishmen clearly approved of their comrade's suggestion. "G'narik, you garrulous pipsqueak," shouted the taller and darker of the two. "I'm starving and parched with thirst over here. Stop chatting up the servants like the foul- mouthed little rat you are and let them serve ... us."

"It seems my friends want to spend their last moments groaning their lives away in your outhouse, Grolf. Bring us some meat and bread, if there's any without rat-turds in it, that is."

"I'll do my best", the tavernkeeper responded dryly.

Both food and drink arrived at the outlanders' table just as the G'nashman set down his axe and relaxed into a chair. After their urgent protestations of hunger and thirst, it was no surprise that they fell to, consuming both meat and drink with noisy gusto, but few words.

The arrival of so wildly assorted a grouping was a clear reminder to Tabhair that Cor Ysryn was a frontier city despite the theoretically calming presence of an Imperial garrison. And, as her instructors in political philosophy had always averred, frontiers are by their nature inherently unstable. A frontier was not so much a wall as a membrane; it might separate, but it also allowed passage of foreign elements from one side to another, destabilizing equilibrium on both sides. This frontier might be expected to be more unstable than most, with several cultures, human and non-human, lying just beyond the mountains that marked its border. 

Tabhair reflected on the nature of that frontier, as she reached for the dented whitemetal goblet holding the last of her rakha, contemplating the possible confluence of geography and politics which might have brought such a collection of persons to this tavern, in this city, at this time. Cor Ysryn stood guard at the foot of Ysryni Pass, the main trade route across the southern arm of the Werrinyi Mountains. The Werrinyi in turn were part of a vast expanse of mountainous terrain which ran from north to south across the Great Continent as if it were the backbone of the world, dividing it in two. 

Here in this fortress city was the easternmost bastion of Empire. To the north, the Mountains curved westerly as they ran to the shores of the Frozen Sea. To the south, they merged with the Alrinnyi Ranges, whose crests and valleys divided the Empire from Kur, and further east, marked the boundaries between Kur and the ancient Empires of Sidhar and Garala. In the mountains themselves were found the domains of the G'nash, and the Ierrinyi. Save for ongoing conflicts between the Ghonish clans and periodic raids by one or the other clan on their less warlike neighbours, there had been peace between all these powers for over a thousand years. 

This peace was in part the legacy of the Emperor Genisha, thirteenth of that name, during whose reign the mantle of Empire had extended to the foothills of the Werrinyi and Alrinnyi ranges. He had seen that carrying battle across those towering barriers of rock would be an unnecessary expense of lives and material. His death decree, binding on all successive Emperors, had been to live in peace with the eastern realms - unless a means could be found to conquer from within. It was assumed that any enterprising Emperor would be diligent in promoting such circumstances. Many tried, but with little success. Only the tiny Kingdom of Kur, well to the south of Cor Ysryn, had so far succumbed.

Conquest of the northern warrior tribes had never been seriously considered; the land was bleak and relatively barren, grassland in the southern plains, near-frozen tundra in the north. The most valuable goods issuing forth from the plains of Ghon were furs from the droves of animals which roamed its expanses and the little-known sea animals which reportedly nested on its northern shores. Not only was there little profit to be earned from attempting such a conquest, but the people themselves seemed inherently ungovernable. The various clans who travelled across the plains following the wild herds seemed to be in constant political flux, now joining for a time under one overlord, now fragmenting into tens of smaller groups, all at war with each other. From time to time, clan warfare might spill across the mountain passes; and seven times in the past thirteen hundred years, an overly ambitious overlord had tried to mount an invasion of the Empire across those same passes, each time without success. The decision of the Empire was simply to leave the plainsmen of Ghon to themselves, and barricade itself against their battles.

Cor Ysryn, and other garrisons along the mountain border, had been built to serve as that barricade. As the centuries passed, trade grew with the tribes of the plains in times of relative calm. With that trade, Cor Ysryn had grown from a military garrison to a flourishing trade city, though it remained walled in memory of those past attempts at invasion. Now all the amenities - and complexities - of any large provincial centre could be found here. Imperial Customs and Excise had established major bureaucracies in response to the influx of goods, both furs from the plains and more exotic fare from the Garalan Empire and the islands lying off its eastern coast. The Mercenaries' Guild maintained a Guildhouse for members seeking employment with caravans heading west over the pass. Blacksmiths and armourers and horsetraders and wagonwrights plied successful businesses. The fertile lands around the city supplied several thriving farmers' markets within its walls. There were also flourishing chapters of the Goldsmiths' Guild, the Mages' Guild, a half-dozen other artisans guilds, even the illegal and ubiquitous Thieves' Guild. Certainly Cor Ysryn harboured the requisite number of criminals, and a smattering of adherents of most of the major revolutionary, often treasonous movements currently bubbling away under the illusory surface sheen of contentment that concealed the heated cauldron of Imperial politics. In fact, of late there had been a new flavour to rumours of treason trickling out of the east, and this city was their focal point. Hence, her assignment here.

Tabhair drew the major portion of her attention back to her surroundings. It lacked yet a candlemark of sunset, and narrow beams of light still crept in through grimy windows, illuminating swirls of smoke and dust in the air.

She gestured to the taverner for another drink, and continued her discreet surveillance. As an Eye, it was of course her function to observe anything and everything, recording the most minute of details for later report and analysis; while she actively sought information to further her own task, some unremarkable detail glimpsed or overheard in passing could hold the key to some other anHwan's mission. Hence everything was to be regarded, and nothing forgotten.

Her trained ear now caught scattered phrases of some discreet and cautious business negotiation between two heavily swathed and shrouded customers who sat hunched over their cups just out of ordinary earshot. The first had aleady been seated when she had entered the tavern, a pitcher and two glasses on the table before him. Heavyset and male, the only identifying characteristic visible was the well-groomed end of a greying beard that escaped from the recessed of the dark hood pulled over his head. His hands he kept drawn into the sleeves of his cloak, such that even when he drank, all that could be seen were his fingertips. He had been joined just a few moments ago by a tall, slender man, swathed in a hooded robe, who sat with his back to her. The newcomer had seized the pitcher with his left hand, poured a full mug of ale, and drank it down without a word. His thirst quenched, they had wasted no time in pleasantries, drawing close at once, almost whispering their conversation. 

The bearded one spoke first. "... orders from the top ..." 

His associate leaned even closer to him, but a few words, heavily stressed as if he were giving instructions, reached her ears. "... after first watch ... the grove ..."

"... deliver him ..." These mumbles from the man with the beard were followed by a reflective chuckle. "... find your friend useful." The voice, though for the most part indistinct, was deep, and seemed almost relaxed.

His companion, by contrast, was far more nervous, or so Tabhair surmised from the almost imperceptible twitching of shoulders, arms, and head. "... restless...wants to meet ... suspicious." 

The bearded man drew back slightly, and after a moment's reflection spoke, with more tension than before. "... instruct our colleagues ... retire her ...."

The nervous one was silent for a moment, then nodded jerkily. Their business apparently concluded, he stood and gestured farewell with his left hand before turning towards the side door. The man remaining extended his hands once more to his own mug of ale, holding it with the fingertips of both hands as he raised it to his lips. For a second the hem of his sleeve slipped down his fingers, and an ornate silver ring, set with a dark, carved stone, could be seen. He quickly lowered his hands, as if conscious that the ring so exposed could possibly be used to identify him. Setting down the mug, he stood and quickly left.

Tabhair contemplated the encounter. There was no doubt in her mind that these two men were conspiring at something. Tantalizing as these hints had been, however, there was not enough information to work with; after just a cursory patrol of the city she could think of twelve widely separated temples, graveyards, and public gardens which boasted well-treed groves or grottos. She committed the details of the incident to memory, including the half-glimpsed pattern graven onto the bearded man's ring, and let her eyes pass over the room once more. 

Her gaze lingered for a moment on a pack of Kwaluu traders from the distant Sutenish Deserts, where they sat clustered around a table towards the far side of the room. Jarring to the human eye in their brightly striped and patterned clothing, they were drinking copious amounts of fermented berry-juice and chattering excitedly. High-pitched staccato giggles made a counterpoint to the musical jingling of the metal coins and baubles that were sewn to the seams of their robes, and roped in long strings around their arms and shaggy ears. From the level of evident glee, it seemed inevitable that some new and barely legal business enterprise was about to be unleashed upon the unsuspecting populace of the city. Regretfully, she was seated too far away to hear more than their frequent shouts of "More pinja juice!", culminating in "Bring the barrel here; we'll draw it ourselves!" Perhaps she would be in the city long enough to find out what was in progress; the Kwaluu were a most inventive race.

Other tables had been claimed by parties far less exuberant, primarily humans, but with a scattering of other races, mostly G'nash or Ghonishi. Some patrons were garbed as artisans, some as traders, some as soldiers, some as outlanders from Sidhar and Garala. Some, like herself swathed in clothing remarkable only for its total lack of distinction, were far more difficult to categorize. More than a few were marked with the faintly nervous air of those engaged in deeds they hoped would pass, if not unnoticed, then at least unremembered.

A handful of customers sat at the counter; solitary drinkers, mostly clad in nondescript clothing giving no indication as to their vocation or status. From the surreptitious glances at the time-candle over the shelves behind the bar, Tabhair concluded that at least some of these awaited other patrons not yet arrived. 

The newest customer at the counter drew her attention. Though at first she had thought the new arrival to be a mage, on closer inspection Tabhair could see the cut and colour of the raiment differed subtly from the prescribed attire of the MageGuild. The hood was drawn up, making it difficult to determine race or age, but the height and general physique were that of either a human or a N'trrin. As the tavernmaster came up to take an order, the figure leaned across the counter to him. Tabhair could barely hear the low whisper that issued from the newcomer's lips.

"A glass of your least expensive wine, if you please, sir." The voice was soft and hesitant, almost certainly female, and young-seeming at that. The accent and diction spoke of education, and some social standing.

Grolf nodded curtly and turned away to the shelves, returning propmtly with a filled goblet in one hand, the bottle in the other. "Three coppers," he grunted, keeping his hand on the goblet. "Or ten for the bottle, holds four glassfuls."

Slowly the blue-robed woman counted out ten coppers and pushed them across the counter. The taverner set down the bottle and scooped the coins into the leather pouch as his waist, moving quickly on to the next customer. The woman reached out to claim both glass and bottle, pulling them close to her. Tabhair could clearly see the hand that clenched the drink, its soft golden hue and lack of fur proclaiming her human, from the Tenishi provinces, while the unwrinkled skin and well-formed joints on that hand was another suggestion of youth rather than age. The woman's head was bowed, her attention fixed intently on the glass gripped tightly in her hand. She seemed to shrink in upon herself, shoulders hunched and drawn, elbows held tightly at her sides. Her posture and the quiet note of defeat in her voice seemed enough to dissuade anyone from seeking out her company. 

Here was a minor mystery. Neither the woman's voice nor the attitude seemed in keeping with the setting she had placed herself in. There seemed no criminal furtiveness about her. Tabhair speculated, based on the apparent leanness of the woman's purse, that she had simply asked directions to a cheap nearby tavern, and found herself here.

Tabhair took another sip of rakha, grimacing at the sharp tang. She swallowed, and shuddered slightly, signalling for another refill. Quietly she thanked the long years of physical and mental conditioning which allowed her, like all those of her order, to experience the pleasures of alcohol, and other substances, while avoiding unwelcome side-effects; this ensured that Imperial Hands and Eyes were impossible to drug, and hard to poison with anything less than an overwhelmingly fatal concoction, but it had its lesser benefits. Anyone watching her would expect her to be at least somewhat incapacitated by this point; the fact that she was not gave her an enormous advantage.

Accepting her drink from the taverner with a cursory nod, she looked around the bar once more. A noisy outburst at the main door drew her notice to the arrival of a handful of soldiers.

"Wha' a gloomy dump thish one ish!", brayed the first soldier through the door as, blinking like a blinded owl, he peered about the room. Several others crowded in, half stumbling over him.

"Ish got beer, doshn't it?" asked one of his mates. "Looksh like ish got beer. C'mon ladsh, here'sh beer!"

Several more men in somewhat rumpled Imperial uniforms lumbered in, looked around, and arduously composed themselves before advancing into the room. "Thersh a big table!" announced a red-nosed soldier with the badge of a troop leader.

"Not big enough!" declared another. "It'sh only got five chairsh, an' thersh eight of us!"

"No there's not," said the one who had entered first. "Thersh ten of us." By now all of the group had an opinion on the issue. "Eight!" "Ten!" "I think there's only seven of us," announced one man with the presence of mind to count.

"Then what we need ish a table with room for seven!" the troop leader announced, carefully avoiding a stagger as he proudly led his men to a table not ten feet from her, where they settled themselves with a goodhearted commotion. An enthusiastic barrage of attempts eventually produced sufficient coherence to place an order - accompanied by a barrage of crude jests - with the serving girl. Clearly drunk, their sergeant was holding forth loudly and eloquently in a northern brogue on the virtues of various brews, the best of which he was of course unable to obtain in this appallingly uncivilized dungheap of a border crossing. As the debate over the best ales in the Empire grew louder and more animated, Tabhair pondered upon their presence here. She had not expected to see Imperials frequenting this particular tavern, given its other occupants. As she listened to their boisterous comments, she understood; these soldiers were but yesterday arrived at the garrison, transferred from a posting near Lhanghra with the rest of their company. Clearly, they did not yet know that this was not a drinking-place that welcomed an Imperial presence; and they were too drunk to notice the glances from the other customers or to see just how out of place they were.

The bar was a good three-quarters full now, and still more patrons slipped or blustered in. She watched as its population was increased by the entry of a dozen freelance mercenaries; from the emblems on their badges, they were sworn for the season to one of the caravan merchants. This seemed an abnormally rowdy bunch, even given the notorious behaviour of mercenaries operating outside the Guild. She wondered if this was the only tavern left in town from which they had not yet been evicted, and how long it would take for them to be ousted from this one as well. No more than two candlemarks, she thought, possibly less given the presence of the Imperial soldiers, since the bad blood between the two was legendary, and conflict almost inevitable under such circumstances.

But for the present, the Imperials were wholeheartedly engaged in entertaining themselves and the rest of the tavern's inmates with traditional legion marching songs. Tabhair allowed herself a ghost of a smile at the familiar pounding rhythm; after all, a mercenary such as she seemed to be might well have spent time in the army. 

She glanced down at her once more empty glass. In keeping with her presumed character, she summoned the taverner once more, demanding a refill. "And change the bottle, if you want to see more of my money", she added in a low voice with tinged with the faintest hint of humour. "This batch is sour as donkey piss."

"I'll try," the man replied, turning away towards the shelves of bottled liquors. She watched with some amusement as he opened several different flasks, smelling each one pointedly before picking up the one he had poured her last drink from, and refilling her glass from that. He placed it before her. "Best I can do."

"Gods save us from your worst, then - it'd kill us all." She tossed him a coin. He grinned and pocketed it.

She eyed the room again. She would need a few more nights to identify the regulars, and decide who might be a likely source of information. If nothing of promise developed here, there was at least one other establishment with a similar atmosphere, named the Long-Eared Fox, yet to be investigated. Tomorrow's plans included visits to the non-Guild hiring halls; a mercenary with the appearance of an unsavoury reputation, looking for a winter berth, might pick up some interesting morsels of information. 

If the information she had been given was to be believed, one thing was certain: whatever might be brewing here in Cor Ysryn, it was only a small part of a rising sense of unrest throughout the Empire. The Emperor feared something - whether civil war or assassination remained unclear - and one of several possible heirs or rivals was the General in command not just of this garrison but the entire north-eastern border force. No one had yet found evidence that the General had had even a traitorous dream, but certain powers had praised the General a shade too heavily, or tried to hard to have their children placed under her command, or done something equally innocent yet eloquent in the language of courtly paranoia. It really took little to suggest to an already suspicious ruler that support for one's rivals might be present, waiting for someone to take the first step towards insurrection. Given the current political climate, rumour alone was enough to launch the kind of investigation that a Hand of the Jade Throne could carry out.

Not for the first time, Tabhair considered her oaths and loyalties. She was sworn, as were all Tighe anHwan, to devote mind, body and life to the preservation of the Empire, and to obey the Emperor and her superiors in the Order in all things. As a member of the Onyx Order, she had other oaths as well, less specific and more demanding. With respect to her current mission, her prime orders, from both the Emperor and her Preceptor, were to observe the General, to assess her character, command, and intentions, and report. That was simple enough. The Emperor had further charged her with investigation and exposure of any treasonous activities, or other matters tending to imperil the Throne, that could be found in Cor Ysryn. 

And going by rumour, it seemed most likely that such treasonous activities must surely be found. In the Capital, there had been rumours of a private army loyal only to the General based in a hidden valley deep in the Werrinyi Ranges; of unlawful negotiations with the G'nash, or the Ierrinyi, or even the Ghon; of a new Ghonish warlord waiting beyond the mountains to fall on the Empire with a greater army of warriors than had ever been seen before; of renegade mages working from some remote mountain fastness to undermine the rule of Imperial law. And yet, as she had travelled closer to the regions all these rumours pointed to, the rumours had faded into silence. Which could mean there was nothing known of these matters here where they were said to be flourishing, or that these things were so widely feared - or accepted - that no one spoke of them at all. 

Well, if the common folk would not talk to her of such things, she would have to find others who might know; and while she might have to wait on time and chance to find such, there was much to be learned about General's reputation just by watching and listening. Already she had learned that tight discipline was maintained on the troops; she'd heard few complaints in shops or inns about the behaviour of the soldiers while in town and off duty. That argued for a commander either feared or respected; which she did not yet know. The General herself was not often seen, spending much of her time touring the outposts along the border; her second, one Marshal Niemes, was commonly in command of the city garrison. This could be a sign of a good leader, concerned with maintaining morale among her troops and keeping a personal eye on all the territories under her care; or it could be a cover for all the nefarious undertakings of which she was suspected. In time, Tabhair would know the truth; and aside from her oath and her mission, that was just about the only thing of which she was certain at this moment.

The Worried Ferret was by now quite bustling with customers; many in convivial clusters, some in deep converse in the still darkened corners. Now that the sun was well down, the shutters were all closed, and smoke from the candles and torches had added to the general unpleasantness of the atmosphere. As she looked around the room, trying to mark in memory for later surveillance those she thought possible to have some information bearing on her mission, she felt a strange tickling at the back of her head. Slowly she raised her hand to her neck, as if stretching or scratching; there was nothing there, or on the wall behind her. Annoyed, she looked about her quickly; still she saw nothing to account for the growing sensation. She forced herself to initiate a meditation exercise to discipline herself; the irritation that she felt growing along with this strange feeling was both dangerous and uncharacteristic. Her mind calmed, she examined her internal awareness, both of mind and body, in the ways she had been taught. She could find no physical cause for this sensation, nor for the annoyance that accompanied it. Yet the tickle had grown to an unpleasant itch, and without her meditative control, she might well be on the verge of a violent outburst.

Assured that the source of this was not within herself, she triggered her limited mage-sense; scarcely strong enough to light a candle by her own power, she was still sufficiently sensitive to detect magecraft worked by others. With her mage-sense active, she could feel the aura of a strong, unfocused magical charge building somewhere near her. It was unlike anything she had ever sensed before, in years of working with full mages; almost as if some mage's power had taken life and emotion on its own. The power seethed and churned, but nothing happened; there was no nucleus, no channel, no measured release of energy.

Suddenly, against the background level of conversation, noisy toasts, and laughter, she heard angrily raised voices at the far end of the bar. Tracking the sound to its source, she saw a young soldier and one of the mercenaries facing off in belligerent confrontation over the head of the blue-robed woman she'd noticed earlier. The sense of magic building, distorted and diffused as it was, seemed to originate from the same place. At that moment, the woman leapt to her feet, pushing them both away from her.

"Keep your hands to yourself!", she spat at the hire-sword. Turning to the other man, she continued, "..and you mind your own bloody business."

The soldier took a hesitant step backwards, polity warring with chivalry on his face. The mercenary moved in on the woman. 

"Leave me alone!", she screamed, punctuating her command with the impact of her hand on the mercenary's face. A critical error on her part, as he snarled and struck back.

The young soldier was on him in a second with a flying tackle. Left alone, the cloaked woman drew away from the fighters. Tabhair caught a glimpse of her expression, mixed horror and despair, before she clutched her hood and robe tightly about her, and turned to flee. Behind her, as the two combatants rolled across the floor, the other hire-swords jumped to their mate's defense, up-ending tables in the process, and sending chairs and beer mugs flying as they landed in a heap with the poor young soldier on the bottom and already well-pounded. This drew most of the Imperials in range to answer the call of honour and even the odds in the face of the traditional enmity between regular army and mercenary, deranging still more furniture as they did so. The rapidly growing muddle of arms and legs and chairs and filthy straw looked like so much fun to a few of the bar's other guests, that despite a lack of personal involvement, they jumped into the fray just for the sheer enjoyment of a good fight of it. Within seconds, the incident had grown from a simple spat over a woman to a full-fledged brawl. Tabhair could see no evidence of weapons drawn, as she debated whether to stay and wait for the fight to die down, or quit the premises before things grew ugly enough that the watch might be called. Others, she could tell, had entered into the same internal debate; all across the room, assorted patrons were quietly collecting their belongings and edging toward various doors. She turned her gaze to the tavern keeper, just in time to see him urgently signalling one of the servants to run - whether to fetch the night-watch or some group of bravos contracted to keep the peace within these walls, she did not know. And as he did so, from the corner of her eye she saw the flutter of the mage's cloak as she slid around the windscreen at the side door, and out of the room.

These twin observations set her course. First, magic of some unknown kind had been done here this night; she had sensed it building just before the fight began, and she was sure it had begun with the vanishing woman. Second, were she to be here when the night-watch - or some private peacekeepers - arrived, her freedom to range unnoticed could be curtailed, or worse, her anonymity could vanish. Action followed decision in the space of a heart beat. In one fluid movement she stepped up onto the chair beside her, swung over the partition, and was after her quarry before the door had even closed behind her. So quick and quiet was she that not even the taverner noted her passing until she was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherrenyi, former apprentice to the Mage school, but now depowered and mysteriously cursed, finds unexpected refuge in a temple of the Mother Goddess.

Chapter Two

The impact of the cool night breeze on her face was like a tonic after the pungent, smoke-laden tavern air, clearing her head and sharpening her senses. Gone in seconds was the pleasant haze born of a little too much wine, in its place were panic and despair. There was no time to lose. Someone might follow her. Clutching her robes around her, she ran towards the street. As her feet stumbled over the worn paving-stones at the head of the laneway, she hesitated for a moment; she'd forgotten which way led back to her rooming-house. Frantically she looked, first to her right, then her left. There - far off down the street she saw the fires that burned without ceasing before the temple of Kalantha. She'd passed there earlier that evening, of that much she was sure. That must be the direction. 

Again she gathered up her strength and ran, trying to put as much distance as she could between the tavern and herself. The violence that had erupted so suddenly in and around her, could just as easily spur someone to track her down. "Indari, protect me", she prayed to herself as she ran. "Don't let any one see me."

As she ran, she glanced back over her shoulder. She saw no one behind her. She took a few more hurried steps, and then stopped, ducking into the shadow of a building. Peering out from the darkness, she waited a moment. Still there was no one following her. This time, so it seemed, she was safe. She waited until her heart stopped its frantic pace and her breathing slowed. She had been lucky so far. There was no point in making herself an object of suspicion if there was no need for it. The way her luck had run lately, she'd probably bump into the night patrol long before she got home safely; and they could have questions she would not want to answer, perhaps even could not answer. Not even Indari could help her if the city guards decided she was too much trouble.

She took a deep breath, and glanced back once more along the way she'd run. No sign of pursuit. Off in the distance, she could see one dark figure walking at a slow and easy pace. Nothing to fear this time. She stepped out from the shadows and continued towards the temple, walking.

It had happened again. It was as if the Sealing had done more than take away her magic; it had cursed her. Wherever she went, there was fighting. Arguments over the strangest, smallest, most inconsequential things. People seemed to get angry almost at the sight or sound of her, even when she tried to keep to herself, say nothing more than she had to. Word had started to spread, that she was a troublemaker. If this continued, she would be in desparate straits indeed. Who would hire a mage-sniffer with a curse of aggravation on her? 

Perhaps she would be better off if she found some other way to earn her coin. It was painful, keeping herself open for the scent, the sound, the feel of magic being worked, knowing that she would never again be able to raise the power herself. And when she did feel the energies surging near her, it was as if some vast roughness scraped against the raw places in her soul. But if she sought some other employ, she might never again, even at a distance, through another's mind, know the intense ecstasy of summoning those energies. It was like picking at the scab on a wound; an irresistible agony.

She stopped suddenly at the gateway into the temple. She rarely prayed to Kalantha, Mother-God though she was. Indari was the God of Mages. But she was no mage. Not any longer. And perhaps the Mother could help her somehow. Perhaps even banish this curse that had been growing in her since that day when her bright future had been shattered and thrown out to rust away. The priest of her village had always said there was nothing the Mother could not forgive, if one's repentance was sincere. That was why the fire always burned, the gates were never shut; the arms of the Mother were always open.

She entered at the gate. Probably nothing would happen, she told herself. She could sincerely beg forgiveness, but she didn't know what to repent. Perhaps if she just told Kalantha everything, She would sort it all out and give her an answer. Hesitating, step by step, she inched past the sacred fires. The great doors were closed against the cold of the night air, but two small doors on either side were ajar, inviting all who came to enter the temple, regardless of the hour. Nerves afire, stomach churning, she stepped inside. 

The anteroom was empty, with only two torches burning, one on either side of the archway leading to the sanctuary of the Mother. She inhaled deeply, the sweet, heavy, familiar tang of incense filling her nostrils and easing, if only a little, her fears. She moved forward, passing through the massive pillars. She paused on the threshold, half afaid to venture further, half certain that she must. 

So late at night, the huge chapel was tranquil, shadowed, almost empty. On either side of the doorway in which she stood, roofed galleries ran along the back of the vast chamber and up the length of the side walls, ending in shadowed archways on either side of the raised chancel. Four gleaming marble steps led to the dais on which the altar rested. Rows of wooden benches, divided into four sections by broad aisles, filled the nave. The only light came from the glass lamps that burned in burnished fittings on the columns of the portico that ringed the sanctuary, and the great undying flame that beckoned on the altar. 

One acolyte stood by a polished oaken lectern to one side of the altar, murmuring softly to himself the sacred words of the midnight rituals. A handful of penitents were scattered throughout the room, some sitting in reflection, some on their knees in prayer. She looked around, trying to find a place far from anyone else. It would be worse than anything else that had happened, if her presence here in the temple interfered with those already at prayer. She moved a little closer to the altar, then stepped aside into a vacant row and lowered herself to her knees on the padded ledge at her feet.

She shifted a little, getting as comfortable as she could, then looked around with a guilty expression on her face. Maybe you weren't supposed to be comfortable. Sheepishly she explained to the God, "I've got a lot to tell You, Mother, so I hope you don't mind if I get settled first".

For a moment, a handful of emotions warred within her. Scorn at her childish grasping for a solution to her problems. Hope that there could be a solution. Fear that not even a God could get her out of this mess. Despair at the black thought that no God would even want to try. Then she took a deep breath, bowed her head, and began to address the Mother-God in a whispered prayer.

"Mother Kalantha, it's me, Sherrenyi. I haven't been talking to You, or Your children, for a long time now ... except Indari, and I don't know if She's even listening to me any more. I used to pray every morning and night, when I was home, thanksgiving prayers just like my father taught me to. But I really haven't felt very thankful lately. You probably know why. Could You explain it to me? Because I don't understand anything that's happened to me.

"I don't know what I've done wrong, Mother, just that it was something very bad. I've been thinking that maybe it was my pride. Because I was so very proud. No one from Inishoba had been chosen by the Mages Guild for ... I don't know how long. I think great-aunt Elishi was the last one, and that was before Da was born. It was a long time, any way. My family was proud. The whole village was proud. After the Testing, when the Mage said I had passed, my parents saved every penny they could for a whole year to get the money to send me for the first session. All their savings went to buy me good clothes, and boots, and that beautiful silver mirror, well silver plated actually, but it was so expensive, and everything else I'd need at the College. They wanted me to be like everyone else, not just a herdgirl from the Tenishi plains. Which is what I was, of course, but they knew that if I got through the first year, and was Accepted, and then Raised to Mage rank, I'd be honoured, and respected, and have important work to do to help people and protect the Empire, just like in the hero-tales, and they wanted me to have the things an honoured Mage ought to have."  
A faint noise behind her brought her prayers to a halt. For a moment she thought it was the sound of a door opening. The ever-present fear of pointing fingers and harsh accusations swelled inside her again. Could someone have noticed her flight, tracked her from the tavern, and now entered the temple to look for her? Still on her knees, she twisted around to look behind her, but there was nothing to be seen. She waited, straining for the sound of a footstep, but all she could hear was the acolyte softly murmuring to himself, and the whispered prayers of the other supplicants. Silly girl, she admonished herself. No one followed me, and no one would hurt me here. She composed herself and resumed her attitude of prayer.

"Sorry, Mother. I've been so jumpy lately... but I suppose You know about that. And everything else I've been telling you for that matter. But I have to tell You anyway, don't I? Was it my pride? Because I was doing so well. Accepted after my first year, and at the top of the list too, and my teachers were all proud of me too. I loved to study. And the magic ... it must be as close as anyone could come to what You must have felt when You made us. Or is that arrogance? I don't mean it like that. You made the energies we use ... I mean, that mages use. It's almost a holy thing, calling on them. It's like praying to You, and all the other gods at once. That's what I miss the most, You know. The feeling that I'm making Your creation more like the way You want it to be."

She paused in her prayers, remembering the feelings she had once known daily. So rarely did she allow herself those memories, joyous and agonizing all at once. Before the recollection of pain arrived, however, her momentary reverie was broken by the departure of three pilgrims who had been kneeling just below the altar when she arrived. She banished the last fragments of the past and returned to prayer.

"I guess that's pride, too. That I would know what You want. Because if that's not what I did wrong, then I don't know what it was. I thought everything was happening the way it should, the way everybody thought it would. And then they told me that I wasn't a good enough person to be Raised. That 'my character was flawed beyond hope of restoration', and I would have to be Sealed so I could never misuse my gift.

"Oh Mother, I know it must have been the right thing to do, because no Master Mage would ever make a mistake in something that important. I've read all the tales about the Dark Mages and the evil that they did, so I understand, but it's so hard to live like this. To know exactly what magic feels like, to know that it's still there inside me, to feel it when it happens around me, and to never ever be able to touch it myself again. 

"I know what we were told, about the terrible things that a flawed mage can do without even knowing it, about the temptations to use the power for the wrong reasons, but it would be easier if I knew what had gone wrong inside me. I could change things in myself... oh I know that I'd never be UnSealed, that's not what I'm asking for, but I could at least make myself a better person. Have some good come out of this.

"I've thought and thought about it till I felt I'd go mad, and I still don't why. All I ever wanted was to do something good. And now I never will. At least not the way I thought I would. I know I have to learn to live like this now. It's probably a sign of just how bad I would have been, that I can't figure out what I was doing that was so wrong. And knowing that I'd end up hurting people, then that's reason enough to take my gift away. I can accept that. But was I so awful that You, or Indari, or Someone else laid this curse on me as well? 

"Because it's the curse that's the worst thing. And not because it makes it so hard for me, though I don't know what I'll do if I keep getting fired all the time. But it hurts other people, too. They get angry and fight each other when I'm around them for too long. They hurt each other. They forget important things, and end up in really bad trouble, and I don't have the gift anymore to help them. If I deserve cursing, please change it so it's something that just hurts me, and I'll live with that, but please change this. Mother, I'm begging you, for the sake of those around me. They shouldn't have to suffer too."

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she ended her prayer. She waited, breathlessly, hoping that she might feel some kind of change. Something that would tell her that this one thing would be different. But she felt nothing. Maybe these things took time. She'd never asked anything of the Gods before, except family blessings, and harvest blessings, but everyone did that. She knew that this was something far different.

She raised herself from her knees and sat down on the bench behind her. It was so peaceful and quiet here in the temple, and warm too. The room she'd rented with her earnings from the last caravan she's travelled with was not very warm. And certainly not quiet. Nor clean, for that matter. 

Everything had changed so much in the past ten moons. And yet sometimes it still seemed like a bad dream, one that she would soon awaken from to find herself still at the Mages' College, in her warm tower room with the great hearth and the mountain view, with her friends around her and maybe even one of her brothers visiting with news from home. And the glorious resonance of her power vibrating in the still places of her mind. That would be paradise.

In her mind's eye, the dream of familiar safe surroundings became clearer and more compelling, while the reality of her lonely vigil in a vacant temple thousands of miles from home slowly faded away. Before she could realize it and catch herself, she had fallen asleep.

In the chancel, the acolyte finished the recitation of his prayers and with a final obeisance to the altar flame, left the chapel. Two more penitants rose to their feet, leaving the great room almost deserted. The cloaked figure of a woman warrior stepped out of a darkened alcove in one of the galleries beside the arched entrance, in which she had stood concealed since her arrival at the temple. Sherrenyi slept on as the observer sat down on one of the benches at the rear of the chapel, wakeful and watching.  
Perhaps a candlemark passed in the gentle silence as Sherrenyi slept. As the deepest hours of the night came on, the last of the worshippers slipped away one by one, until only the silent warrior and the sleeping girl remained. Suddenly, soft footsteps, and the sussuration of cloth rasping on stone intruded into the silence. Out of the same obscured passage by which the acolyte had departed emerged a tall, stately woman, garbed in the robes and holy symbols of a Priest of Kalantha, her grey hair telling the tale of her years. She paused below the chancel, as if searching for something. As her gaze passed over the form of the warrior, her eyes widened for a moment, and she was answered with an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Her gaze moved on, to come to rest on the slumbering figure of Sherrenyi.

Silently the priest came and sat beside the sleeping woman, leaving just enough room between them so as not to disturb her. For a long moment she looked at the woman, so young and seemingly defenceless, taking in every detail of her appearance. The hood of her blue-tinted cloak had fallen back, revealing chestnut brown shoulder-length hair that framed a childlike, innocent face, wholly unlined in repose. Her skin was the burnished gold of the Southern plainsfolk. Beneath the opened cloak her slender, barely more than girlish frame was clad in tunic and leggings of plain but good material; worn and neatly patched in places, but nonetheless clean and presentable. Her boots were made from fine leather, but showed signs of heavy wear, as did the finely tooled belt fastened around her waist, and the almost empty purse which hung from it. She appeared to bear no weapons, and seemed to wear nothing of adornment.

As the older woman watched the woman-child slumbering beside her, a slight movement revealed the glint of metal in the sleeper's right ear. She leaned towards the girl, ever so slowly, to look more closely at the earring which pierced the lobe. The change in angle revealed a flat grey metal disk, marked with the braided scepter that was the symbol of Indari, the God of knowledge and of magic. But where a Mage's symbol was the scepter held upright and wreathed in flames, this image showed a broken rod of power imposed against a single teardrop. One eyebrow lifted in recognition as she drew back and resumed her more comfortable position at the young woman's side. So this girl had been a mage, and was now Sealed. That was something to consider. She clasped her calloused hands around the small silver sword that hung from her robes and prepared to wait until the sleeper awoke. Behind her, the chapel's only other occupant stood, and quietly departed. 

Sherrenyi woke with a start at the sound of the great doors in the anteroom far behind her being chained open. Almost at once she realized there was someone beside her. She turned, half in fear, half in bewilderment, not sure if she should face the stranger beside her or flee. As if it had become an automatic movement, she reached up and pulled her hair down to cover her ears. Before she could speak, let alone struggle to her sleep-numbed feet and get away, her unknown companion reached out and took her arm gently, as if to comfort her.

"Do not be alarmed; dawn is approaching and the novices are preparing the temple for First Service. Were you planning to stay for the morning prayers?"

Sherrenyi shook her head, not in negation, but rather to clear the last comforting images of her dreams from her mind. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The priest looked at her, compassion softening but not disguising a calm and careful assessment. "Last night as I prayed in my chamber, I felt compelled to come into the Temple; when I saw you, I knew I was drawn here for you. What do you want of me, daughter?"

The young woman was for a moment speechless, amazement, suspicion and relief all clamouring to be heard within her. Was this the Mother's answer to her?

The priest smiled kindly at her evident confusion. "I feel certain that you asked for some thing from Our Mother. Is it so hard to believe that She sent me to you?"

Sherrenyi shook her head, reluctantly. The priest continued, "Then, will you stay here for the morning prayer, or shall we go somewhere quieter? There you can tell me whatever you choose of the problems that brought you here."

The smallest glimmer of hope flickered on the young woman's face. She was silent for a moment, torn between the painfully learned lessons of caution and the long lost habit of trust. At last she nodded to herself, and looked up to meet the eyes of the priest. "No prayers this morning. I'm don't feel much like celebrating the new day." Sherrenyi grimaced. "I haven't felt that way in a long time. Where do you want to go?"

"Since neither of us has eaten yet, shall we go to the refectory? It will be almost empty now, with the novices and priests already finished breakfast." The priest stood, holding out her hand to the younger woman. "You may call me Rayva."

"My name's Sherrenyi. My friend call me Sherren." She gathered up her cloak on one arm and followed the priest along the outer aisle, toward the rear of the chapel. Recessed into the gallery was an archway leading to a series of long hallways, which led in turn to the living quarters of the temple priests and novices.

"The temple runs a hostel for travellers; the refectory remains open throughout the day to serve them." As she said this, the older woman opened a door into a room almost as large as the chapel itself, filled with long trestle-tables and padded benches. Huge windows, high up on the walls on two sides, let in the early morning light. Where one entire wall would have stood ran a long ledge, waist-high, topped with a broad counter laden with platters of bread, fruit, and cold meat, large pots from which rose the fragrant odours of hot spiced porridge, and jugs, some steaming hotly. Above the ledge was a huge opening through which could be seen the kitchen, where acolytes and priests alike worked to prepare the huge repast.

"There is no set charge for meals, only whatever donation a traveller chooses to make. And those in need are not asked to pay." Rayva motioned the younger woman to follow her as she took a wooden tray from a pile and began to choose from the foodstuffs on display. 

It had been a long time since Sherren had been offered the chance to eat so well. The caravans she'd worked for had mostly travelled on dry rations; the inns and rooming houses she'd stayed in between jobs had offered little in the way of meals. Like a child at the Harvest Feast, she loaded her tray with fresh-baked bread and sweet sticky buns, slathered with new-churned butter; a bowl of nut-grain porridge, dotted with dried fruits, dusted with dark sugar and swimming in cream; and a large mug of kavva, strong and spicy but sweet with honey and cooled with yet more cream. She hadn't eaten like this since she'd left the College. She looked at her companion, who had carried bread, fresh fruit and kavva on her tray. "This is a hostel, as well as a temple?"

"Any temple will find a place for the night for a weary stranger, and feed him in the morning. But Cor Ysryn is a centre of trade, an Imperial Garrison post, a crossroads for many different peoples. Some travellers prefer a place of quiet and contemplation to the more worldly hospitality available beyond these walls. Many temples in the cities offer such accommodation. In my calling, I journey often at the will of the Mother, and whenever possible I lodge within temple walls." With a glance at her companion, Rayva seated herself at one of the trestle-tables, well out of earshot of the handful of others, travellers and temple-dwellers, scattered across the room. "You did not know that the temples served voyagers so?" 

Sherren sat at the long table, across from the priest, who watched her quietly, peeling a colourful, sharply but pleasantly scented fruit. "I didn't, no." She took a large mouthful of the kavva, her eyes half-closed with pleasure. "For most of my life, all I knew was my own village - Inishoba, in the Western Tenishi Plains, and then ... somewhere else where I was mostly taken care of. I don't know a lot about much else, though I'm learning as fast as I can. I have to." She drank again from the steaming mug. "I've missed that."

Rayva gathered the strips of peel into a neat pile on her tray, then bit into the ripe fruit, savouring it for a moment before continuing. "You are a long way from Inishoba."

The younger woman spoke between mouthfuls of porridge. "You have no idea how far. First, I left home to go ... to school, but when I left there, I couldn't go home. A ... friend got me a job with a caravan, and ever since then I've been moving from caravan to caravan, going wherever they've been going. I'm really not even certain how far I am from home. It's been ten moons on the road. But I haven't been able to get a job since I arrived here, and I'm almost out of money, and ... everything is just horrible." She paused to take a huge bite of her sticky bun.

"Sherrenyi ... while you were sleeping in the temple last night, I saw the earring. Are you willing to talk about it?"

"I guess I have to. It's part of what I spoke to... Her about." Sherren cast a quick glance skyward. "And if She sent you, I guess She means for me to tell you about it too." More composed, more directed in thought than she had been the night before, Sherren outlined the harrowing sequence of events that had taken her from the plains of Tenisha to the Mage's College at Vendishin, and thence to the crowded streets of Cor Ysryn. Rayva sat silently until the girl's narrative had ceased.

"So. You failed your Testing as a Mage, and instead of returning home to your family, or accepting training to another vocation, you ran off in the night to join a caravan, and you've been on the move ever since."

"I couldn't go home. They had been so proud, and I failed them. And I had no where else to go, no money for other schooling, I had to get away from the College, and find some way to survive. The caravan agreed to take me even with this." She gestured abruptly at the earring. "I can still feel magic. I can check goods and supplies, for glamours or compulsions. I can ..."

Rayva interrupted her gently. "I know what benefit a power-sensitive can be to merchants, among others. But surely this was the harshest of the options before you."

"I had no other options!" Composure lost, tears of anger welled in her eyes, blurring her vision.

"Or simply none that you could bear with? Too proud to return home, or take the help your College was bound to offer to anyone in your place?"

"What help? My masters sent for me in the middle of the night and told me that I had failed their tests. They questioned me for hours, and then I was Sealed. They sent me back to my room to wait for formal notice of my expulsion. No one offered me any help! No one except my tutor, that is. We both had Master Primalis for Mentor, and he heard about what happened to me somehow. Sometimes I think that Master Primalis took pity on me, and sent Brenlid to help me. I don't know. But he warned me about the public humiliation that was waiting for me. Maybe I am too proud, but I couldn't have borne that. He helped me get away that night, he made all the arrangements with the caravan owner, he even gave me some of his own money to tide me over until I got paid. That's all the help I got from anyone!"

In her excess of emotion, Sherren had not seen the look of true puzzlement that slowly crept over the features of her companion as she spoke, for the first time, of the events of the night that had shattered her world. Rayva reached across the table, and took the girl's hand in her own. She spoke intently, "Sherren, you must listen to me. If you had only waited, instead of running off into the night, there would have been help. Unless you had actually committed some crime, - and you did not, did you?" The priest tilted her head in question, waiting for Sherren's quick shake of the head before resumimg. "... then, if there was no crime to be brought to trial, there would have been no public humiliation. And it is the law that any of the Mage-gifted who must be Sealed, have a right to full training in any other profession of their choice. Sherren, it is not a sign of some great evil in you that your Masters were brought to this decision. It is just that a Mage has such great power for good or evil that the petty inperfections that most of us posess pose a muchly magnified danger to one with such power. It is no shame to be not quite close enough to perfection to wield the power of a Mage."

"If that's true, then why did Brenlid..."

"I don't know. Perhaps he didn't know what your College was required to offer you. Perhaps he had his own reasons for wanting you gone. But you deserve better than what you have been given..."

Sherren shook her head impatiently. "None of what you are saying makes any sense right now. Whatever you say should have happened to me, I know what did happen, even if I don't know why. But that's not why I came here last night. I wouldn't ask for divine intervention for something I suffered that I brought on myself."

"Then why did you come? What did you ask for?" Ther was a note of disbelief in Rayva's voice as she continued. "What could possibly be worse than being alone, and friendless, far from home, in a strange city, penniless, out of work, and believing yourself to be a failure, and flawed by some great evil?"

"I'm cursed. That's what I asked Kalantha to fix. Everything else, I could deal with, somehow."

Rayva pursed her lips in judicious thought before speaking. "A true, God-sent curse is rare. Though I scarcely know you, still I find it hard to credit you with the degree of blasphemy that would bring such a curse upon you. What makes you believe you are cursed?"

Sherren swallowed the last of the sticky bun before answering. "Things have been going... wrong around me ever since I left Vendishin. My presence angers people, makes them upset and careless. I thought perhaps Indari had cursed me for defiling the gift of magic." 

"You believe this has been upon you since you left the College? And that it is a punishment for your failure?" Rayva looked sharply at the younger woman.

"Yes. That's why I came here for help. I thought maybe a god could ... change what another god had put on me. But if it wasn't a god... maybe it's a spell. To punish me in Indari's name."

The priest sat still for a moment, then picked up her mug and drank the last of her kavva. "I have difficulty in thinking this can be true. Those who must be Sealed are not punished unless a crime has been committed. And this you say you did not do. So there would be no reason for the Masters of your College to do such a thing, in Indari's name or any other. Are you sure that it's not rather that you are associating with a different sort of people? Caravans, and traveller's inns, and the like, attract restless, often angry people..."

Sherren shook her head impatiently. "No, it happens so much that people see that it's connected to me somehow. That's why I'm out of work. Word's gone around that trouble follows me. But the worst part is that it hurts other people. People who can usually work together get angry and fight each other, hurt each other when I'm around. Even worse, they get irritated, impatient, careless. They forget things, and end up causing more trouble. It's like that game children play, piling up playing stones, and knocking them over. One after the other until they're all toppled over."

"It still could be nothing. People like to find scapegoats for their problems, and outsiders are easy to blame. Think for a moment about the kinds of people you've worked with, the stresses they are under..."

Reluctantly, Sherren did as she was asked, reviewing in her mind all the incidents of the past ten moons. She shook her head once more. "No, I'm sure it's a curse. There's one thing I haven't told you about it. I can still sense power. And whenever it happens, I can sense something happening around me - something like magic, but different. Something that hurts where magic feels good, something that's dark and ... uncontained, and somehow angry. It's like no magic I've known before. If it weren't for that, I'd probably agree with you, but it's there, and it's not my imagination. Human-sent or Gods-sent, I don't know, but it must be a curse."

Now Rayva found herself shaking her head as she puzzled over all the aspects of Sherren's tale, each one more unheard of than the last. "I still find it hard to credit these things to a divine curse; such deeds as would call the gods' anger against you would leave marks on your soul, marks that I could read. I sense no great evil in you, only anger and despair. Can you think of any reason why someone would set a magical curse upon you?"

"Me?" Sherrenyi threw up her hands and shrugged her shoulders. "No. That's why I thought it was the gods. I'm nobody special. I'd never been anywhere except for my parents village, and the School. My family isn't rich or powerful, there's no one that I know of who'd want to hurt my family through me. And this kind of curse would take a lot of power. It would be very expensive to hire that kind of a mage. I'm not worth it."

Rayva looked at the young woman for several minutes. "I do not know what to tell you. I still think it unlikely that you have been gods-cursed, though I will pray over this matter later to be certain. There is no reason for a magical curse to be lawfully set, and you agree that there is no reason for someone to have cursed you without lawful cause. But you still believe that you are cursed? You have felt magic around you at those times?"

"Yes. Something ... unnatural is happening. I know it sounds unbelievable, the way you say it, but I can still tell the difference between something that has its own reasons, and something that's been caused to happen. It may not be the gods, but it's not natural, what's been happening around me. And to me... lately, when this happens, I feel the anger in myself as well. It happened again last night, and ... I struck someone. I've never done that before." Sherrenyi lowered her eyes, ashamed to admit that she was falling prey to the curse.

"Child, even if there is no supernatural element causing your woes, you have suffered much, and I fear some of that has been without cause. Such circumstances can drive anyone to such anger and despair as you have felt. You need not blame yourself so much for such a natural reaction." Rayva paused, and began to stack up the dishes and trays that marked the only remaining evidence of their breakfast. "Do you wish my advice on what to do with this problem of yours?"

"Oh yes. I've run out of ideas ... and strength as well, I think."

"I think you need a time of rest; a time to recover from your trials and regain your balance. Then, you may see these things more clearly."

"I'd like nothing more, but I'm almost out of money, and I can't stay..."

Rayva raised her hand. "You can stay here. There is no fee for one truely in need. Also, I would like some time to observe you, to see if there is evidence of a divine curse in action, and to ask the Mother for guidance if it is found. And I would like one of the mage-priests here to examine you for any indications of a more mundane nature. Will you stay?"

"I'm not sure if I should."

"Why not?"

"I told you, this curse affects people around me. It's bad enough in places where, like you said, you expect a little trouble once in a while. But if I break the sanctity of a temple..."

Rayva leaned across the table, and took Sherren's hand in her own. "I will not allow that to happen. There are precautions that can be taken, and I will see to it that they are taken. Will you trust me on this?"

Sherren stared into the older woman's eyes. "Lately I've been learning that it's safer not to trust anyone. But I believe you'll try to protect the temple from whatever this is. So I'll stay... until something goes wrong, anyway." She smiled. "And as long as I can eat like this every day."

"That I can promise you as well." The priest stood up, gathering the trays in one hand, and placing them in the large bin at the end of the table. "Now, let's find the Hostellier, and find you a nice quiet room."

"But... my room ... I have to let the landlord know... and my things..."

"I'll send an acolyte to straighten matters out with your landlord. I really don't want you to leave the protection of sacred ground until I know what has caused your problems."

The refectory was only a few minutes distant from the hostel rooms. While they waited for the acolyte on duty to locate the Hostellier, Rayva obtained from Sherren the address of the rooming-house she had stayed in and the name of her landlord. Not long thereafter, The Hostellier arrived, and after some discussion with Rayva, he assigned the young woman to one of the more secluded rooms available, which was ordinarily kept for laymen seeking a time of retreat. Rayva led her to her room, pointing out as she did directions to the bathing rooms and the privies. Sparsely furnished with bed, table, chair, and clothes-chest, the room was nonetheless bright, for a large high window allowed the sunlight in. One door opened onto the passageway leading to the refectory, and the temple beyond; beyond the other door was a small and private meditation garden, walled against intrusion and planted with fragrent flowering plants and a tall shade tree.

After showing her both room and garden, Rayva firmly escoted Sherren to the newly made bed. "You are tired still, after only a few hours of sleep on a hard temple bench. I can see it in your eyes. I want you to sleep if you can, rest and meditate if you cannot, until I return to bring you to supper. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Sherren sat down on the bed, and began to remove her boots. "Rayva..."

The priest turned back to look at the girl. "Yes?"

"Why are you doing all this for me?"

"Many reasons. At first, because the Goddess asked me to. It is my job, you know. Also, because it seems that you have been wronged, and have no one else to act for you. And in part because you pose a mystery, and I like solving mysteries. And finally, because I feel you need me, and I like you, Sherrenyi. I want to help you."

"Thank you. I've been alone for so long..."

"You won't have to be alone again until you're ready for it. That's one of the reasons why the Temple doors are never locked. Sherren looked at Rayva, a puzzled expression on her face. "It's one place everyone can always come home to." Rayva smiled. "Rest now. I'll see you in the evening."

As Rayva left, the younger woman sagged back onto the narrow cot, one hand reaching down to draw the rough blanket up over her body. She nestled into the pillow, eyes closing almost instantly. Within moments, she was asleep.


	3. Chapter 3 (incomplete)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rayva, Priestess of Mother Goddess Kalantha, spends the morning dealing with the mysteries that Sherrenyi has brought with her to the Temple.

The Watchers Cycle Volume One  
H. Morgan MacLeod  
Chapter 3

As she closed the heavy oaken door behind her, Rayva had already determined in her mind the first steps of her investigation - for she had no doubt that there must be an investigation, and that her part in it was ordained. Beyond the grave questions raised in her mind by the young girl's tale, the fact that she had been Called to Sherren's side confirmed her instinctive response. She knew something of the procedures followed by the Mage Schools in such matters, and nothing that she had heard jibed with what she knew ought to have been done. Whether there was, indeed, a curse upon the girl as well, she did not know; there were others more competent to answer that question. But as she reflected on all Sherren had told her, an inescapable aura of wrongness seemed to impinge on all of her senses, like something just barely perceptible, but nonetheless uncomfortable - the smell of meat the day before it spoils, or the give beneath the fingers of fabric just about to fray.

She suspected that the problems posed by this lost child swept up on her doorstep by the gods would not be easy ones to solve. But it was, clearly, her task to pursue the truth, and resolve whatever injustice had been done. And before she could act, she must find out what had truly happened - not rely solely upon what one naive young girl believed had happened. Information was the key. At least there were several avenues she could take towards that end.

Her first stop was the duty room, where the younger acolytes assigned to act as pages spent the day in study while waiting for tasks to be assigned. Though well over a dozen youths ringed the tables, reading or copying out lines, she hesitated before making her choice. Earnest and willing to please though all the pages were, still they were children - none of them older than twelve - and she needed someone who could follow instructions with great precision for this task. Her eyes fell upon one of the more levelheaded boys who had discharged errands for her in the past, and she gestured to him to come to her.

"Caltin," she said, resisting the urge to ruffle his unruly mop of ochre hair. "I have a very important job for you. It may look ordinary, but it could be risky if you don't follow my instructions."

The boy nodded, his hazel eyes widening in eagerness for an adventure. "What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to go to the lodgings of a penitant who came to us last night, gather up her things and bring them here." Though he struggled to hide it, some of the boy's excitement faded. Rayva smiled. "That's the looking ordinary part. What makes it risky is that you have to take care not to touch any of her things with your bare skin, because something that she owns might be cursed.” The boy’s eyes grew wider still, and he gasped. “That’s why I want you to wear gloves, and tuck your sleeves into them, all the time you're fetching her things. If you don’t touch it, it won’t hurt you."

"What kind of a curse?" The lad asked, voice steady despite the concern in his eyes.

"I don't know. That's why I need to see everything she owns. And why it's so important that you don't touch anything of hers, and you don't let anyone else touch anything, either. Will you do that for me?"

Solemnly, Caltin nodded, and she gave him the directions to Sherrenyi's boarding house.

"Remember, to get all of her belongings. Get some silver pieces from the Duty Master before you go, you will have to settle her bill... and you may have to pay extra to search her room yourself. Take a large sack with you, and wrap all of her things up tightly in it. Bring everything to my chamber and leave it on the floor inside the door. Remember, wear your gloves - and even then, do not touch anything more than you have to, in order to pack it. No curious poking around. Understood?"

He nodded his head. "Understood."

"Fine." She smiled. “Now be off with you."

The next step required more thought. Sherren could not be allowed to roam loose around the Temple - at least, not until Rayva had a better sense of what was wrong, and could assure herself that the girl did not pose a danger to anyone else. However, she didn't want to treat the poor child like a prisoner. Hence, she would have to find Sherren a companion, someone close to her own age, who could keep her occupied without seeming to be her keeper. She thought that the most likely choice for this task was one of her theology students, a young novice named Alizen. Alizen was Tenishi, though she had grown up near the borders of Kur rather than in the drylands as Sherren had; still, their shared heritage might help Sherren feel more at home. More importantly, Alizen was an openhearted young woman who thought quickly on her feet and had well-developed powers of perception. 

A few questions asked at the office of the Master of Novices informed her that Alizen was working in the public infirmary this quarter. She asked, and was granted, leave to take Alizen from her assigned tasks for an undetermined length of time. Crossing the Temple courtyard yet again, she headed to the infirmary, where she found the young novice in the stillroom, taking inventory. Quickly she outlined the task she had set for Alizen: to wait outside Sherren's chamber until she woke; to see to any of the young girl's needs so that she would not be tempted to wander about the Temple grounds unescorted; to keep her company; to keep Rayva informed of what Sherren was doing; and to learn whatever she could about the young woman without going so far as to make her uneasy, or shake her trust.

Once Alizen had been dispatched to her post outside Sherren's room, Rayva went next to the massive building which housed the Temple library. Bypassing the reference rooms, she went to the scriptorium, where she took parchment, pen, and inkpot from the common supply shelves and sat at one of the smaller worktables to compose a letter to the Chaplain of the Mage School at Vendishin. Giving as little detail as possible, and no indication of her reasons, she wrote that some questions had been raised by a penitant concerning one female student of the school, Sherrenyi by name, from the village of Inishoba, and also one male student, Brenlid by name, both said to be students of one Master Primalis. Could the chaplain please pass on all that was known concerning these three persons, no matter how insignificant it might seem? She closed her missive, with many thanks from a sister in Light, Rayva Priest of Kalantha, resident at Caer Ysryn.

She sanded the parchment to dry the ink, then folded, addressed and sealed it. Rising, she slipped the letter into one of the large pockets concealed in her robes, and went to arrange for its most expeditious delivery. 

[insert more description of library, location of Sam’s office, etc]

The Master Librarian, a burly young priest named Samiellin whose duties also encompassed management of the Temple's messenger services, was in his office, head bowed over a ragged sheaf of papers spread out on his desk. An abacus rested by his left hand. Oblivious to her entrance, he spun the counters, snarling under his breath. She coughed gently. He looked up, and seeing her, his look of frustration changed to a broad smile as he swept the papers aside. "Rayva. Have you come to force me into another game of Legions? I warn you, I won't play you again unless you spot me one flanker piece."

Rayva grinned at him, as she settled down opposite him. "Force you? From what I overheard on my way in, I'm thinking you'd be more likely to consider that a rescue mission."

Samiellin laughed. Grasping the wheels of his chair with his strong hands, he swivelled sideways and pushed himself out from behind the vast desk, stopping beside her. "I confess. Between counting up the monthly expenses and keeping track of recent acquisitions, I'm well and truly tired of adding up numbers. So, have you come to save me? Either way, I want a flanker from you." 

Rayva shook her head. "Alas, It's business I'm after today, not pleasure. Although I think I must protest that major a handicap you don't lose all that often to me."

"Often enough. But perhaps you're right. I'll settle for a forfeit of one of your kells, for now. Fair?"

"Fair. But that will have to wait." She fished out her missive and handed it to him. "This letter is of the highest urgency and discretion. This must be handled by our own mages only, and request response by the same route. I must have an answer as quickly as possible."

"And, if you can tell me anything, what could happen in our little town to require that much haste?"

She shook her head, smiling grimly. "I don't know yet. But She dragged me into it, and the sense of urgency is growing."

"Like that, is it? Some days I thank all the gods that I'm just an ordinary priest, not Called like you are. I'm too fond of my books and my routines. Even my abacus and numbers, if it comes to that. Some of our brothers and sisters resent the fact that She doesn't speak to us all. Myself, I'm glad that She hasn't noticed me yet."

"She speaks to everyone, Samiel. It's just that She shouts at some of us, and whispers gently to others. Sometimes, I'd rather that She stopped shouting at me." She shrugged, and smiled. "But to each the role appointed. If you please, send that off for me and the next time we play, I'll spot you two kells. But it won't be tonight. I've got other things to see to." 

"I don't know how I'll be able to wait. I was looking forward to being annihilated once more." He grinned.

Rayva grinned back. "I'm sure you'll survive." 

"I will." As she turned to leave his office in pursuit of her next errand, he looked after her for a long moment. "Lady bless," he whispered, then spun his chair around and rolled back to his desk and reached for the small bell that would summon a page.

Rayva's path led her next to the quarters of one of the most powerful, and learned, of the priest mages currently in residence. More than that, Rayva also counted Nemhain as one of the more discreet mages, even if she was prickly and sometimes difficult to work with. She had seen more than one priest-mage either near tears, or enraged, after a work session with Nemhain; it was an interesting fact, however, that she had never seen nor heard mention of Nemhain’s browbeating a page or student. Rayva hoped that this generosity to those beneath her in standing would carry over to any dealings the priest-mage might have with Sherrenyi. 

The door to Nemhain's quarters was equipped, as were most of the doors of permanent residents, with a privacy signal. Its four settings ranged from "come in" to "do not knock or enter for any reason." Nemhain’s was set to "disturb only for urgent matters." Taking a deep breath, Rayva knocked firmly on the wooden door. 

A voice called through the door, sharp with annoyance. "What?"

Rayva leaned against the crack in the door. "Nemhain, it's Rayva. I'm sorry, but I must speak to you."

She heard several loud thumps from inside the room. Then Nemhain, a short, stout woman with a dusting of grey in her hair, opened the door. Her face was stern, almost forbidding, with a clear expression of annoyance. "What do you want?" she asked sharply, shoving her hands down into the pockets of her stained leather apron.

"I regret the intrusion, Nemhain, but this is something which, I fear, should not wait." Rayva glanced beyond the mage, into her quarters. "It also requires some discretion. May I speak with you privately?"

The mage grunted. "Alright. Come in. But be as quick as you can. I'm busy."

Indeed, as Nemhain stepped aside to allow Rayva into the room, the older woman could see masses of grimoires, antique scrolls, old codices and untidy stacks of printed books, mounded on the huge desk that filled half the room, and covering the floor around it. Scattered about were piles of papers covered with notes and diagrams. Beyond the desk, the door to Nemhain's workroom lay open, and Rayva could see still more books and papers, sharing space on the workbench with flasks and jars of alchemical compounds, and pieces of apparatus that Rayva could not even put a name to. In the face of this chaos, Rayva reminded herself that the best mages were scholars, as well, always delving into the nature of their gifts and the patterns in which they operated and Nemhain was one of the best. Which was why she needed her talents now.

"Nemhain, I need you to ward the quarters of a young woman I've invited to stay at the Temple. A two way ward nothing of a magical nature should be able to get into that room or get out."

Nemhain snorted. "For that you disturbed me? Go bother one of the apprentices for that kind of work. I have more important things to see to."

"If I thought someone with less experience and skill could handle this, I would have gone to them. There are aspects of this that I know nothing about yet but I have a feeling that I will need someone of your calibre to deal with them."

"Stop trying to flatter me into this, Rayva. What makes you think this case is so special?"

"For one thing, the girl's a Sealed mage and I don't feel anything that would be a fair reason for that. For another, she thinks she's been cursed and based on what she's said, with some reason but there's not a whiff of any divine involvement. There are mysteries here some which I can't tell you about, because I don't have her leave to speak and I want to have the best mage I can find at my side, just in case. In my judgement, that's you. Not flattery, truth."

"This had better be worth my time. You know, mages are Sealed for things that would scarcely be worth a sideways look in anyone else."

"I know. I could be wrong. But it feels improper to me. Will you help?"

"If it were one of the others..." Nemhain paused, frowning. Then she sighed. "I have to admit, you aren't one to blow things out of proportion. So I'll ward her room for you. What else do you want?"

"Once you've created a space where she is safe from anything that may be directed at her and those around her are safe from anything she may carry I'll need you to examine her closely for spells. And her belongings, as well, once I've looked them over. After that, it depends on what you find. A personal ward, if possible, so she can have the freedom to come and go as she pleases. Ultimately, an answer to her problem, and possibly a solution."

"So, what is her problem? What makes her think she's cursed?"

"I'd rather you hear it from her. There may be things you would ask that would never occur to me."

The mage sighed in exasperation. "Fine. Where have they lodged her? When do you want me to examine her?"

Rayva smiled. "Thank you, Nemhain. She's sleeping now, in the third retreat chamber in the east wing of the lay residences. If you will ward her room before she wakes as securely as you know how then perhaps the three of us can have dinner there tonight, and you can decide what to do after that, and when."

The priest-mage nodded curtly, in grudging assent. "Send for me when you need me, then. I'll do what I can - but if you're wrong about the requirements of this case, I won't waste my time further, do you understand?"

Rayva bowed her head. "Of course. If your judgement is that someone of lesser ability can handle this, then I won't trouble you further."

"Fine. Now get out of here so I can set this ward you want, and try to salvage some of my studies for the day." Nemhain turned away from the older priest at the door and started toward her private workroom.

Rayva left, calling back over her shoulder as she drew the door shut, "This evening, then. Around darkfall." A loud grunt from behind the door served as a wordless assent. 

It was late morning before Rayva returned at last to her own chamber, having seen to everything she could think of to protect both the young woman who had come so unexpectedly under her care, and all the others who visited, or dwelt, under the Temple roof. She had alerted the Domine of the Temple to the potential concerns that could arise from Sherren's presence within the Temple walls. She had collected some precautionary supplies that might be of use in her investigation. She had arranged for both magical and human wards on Sherrenyi. There was little else she could think of, for now. 

Opening the door to her quarters, she found just inside it a large sack. Opening the mouth gingerly, she saw within it a loosely tied bundle, wrapped in a worn blanket woven in the distinctive style of the Tenishi - bold, simple patterns knotted into the weave bordering a plain expanse in the centre. Old as it was, the vivid colours of the dyes - reds, yellows, greens and black - still were true. These must be Sherren's belongings, she thought, closing the door and pulling tight the chain which would let those without know that she could not be interrupted. Peace thus assured for her investigation, she bent to pick up the sack. 

Arms full, she looked around her for a moment, debating where to set the package down to examine its contents, then passed through the room into her own meditation garden. Best, she thought, to place whatever might be amiss squarely under the light of the Mother - and within the confines of a blessed circle. Kneeling in the soft grass at the centre of the ring of stones she had placed and blessed herself, Rayva set the sack down in front of her, and laid her hands on it. Closing her eyes to draw upon her inner focus, she framed a quiet prayer to her patron. "Lady, as You have Called me to the aid of this young woman, grant me the vision to See whatever evils may have touched her, body, mind or soul, or any thing she bears with her." 

As she knelt there, the heat of the midday sun warming her skin, she felt a familiar inner peace suffusing her mind and spirit. The Goddess was with her. Reaching into one of her pockets, she pulled out a pair of thin cloth gloves and put them on; if there was anything here that would require a Mage's attention, the last thing she wanted was to contaminate the item with her own energies. Trusting in the Goddess to guide her, she shook the bundle out of the sack, and unfolded the blanket in front of her, spreading out the items it contained so that all were separate and visible. There was pitifully little to examine. Most of what she found was clothing: two plain tunics, somewhat worn, much like the one the girl had worn beneath her robe; a spare pair of leggings, also rather worn; a skirt in the same design and colours as the blanket, but showing little wear; sandals, well-made and of good leather; and a handful of underthings. 

Tied into a packet with the remains of some leather lacings were a few small books, and a sheaf of rag-paper. Rayva paused to consider the books that Sherren had carried with her. Two books were old, bound in carefully worked and gilded leather, and written in Tenishen. Opening each in turn, Rayva thought that they might be books of poetry, perhaps religious verse; the names of the Tenishi patron gods, Itensi and Ashera, appeared in many of the passages. The next book was one she knew by reputation - Meditations of the Kindled Flame, written by one of the first Truesworn Mages, Gaerlin Freithsen. It was, she knew, required reading at every Mage College in the Empire. There were two books dealing with magical theory, again standard reading for a Mage in training, and three volumes of historical tales, all set in the early days of the Empire, recounting the battles of Freithsen and his fellows against the Dark Mages. The last two volumes in the pile were untitled. Rayva opened the first one; hand-written in Tenishen, it was, she thought, the girl's journal. The second, also hand-written, but in Common script, was Sherren's unfinished grimoire.

A small woven pouch yielded up a wooden comb, a small mirror of polished metal, a carved bone toothpick, and a few small pots and vials of soaps and lotions. A leather pouch held pens, quills, and a block of ink. A small carved wooden box contained a handful of smaller objects - some jewellery, and other trinkets that might be momentos, or gifts. Rayva spread all these items out on the blanket beside the clothing and books, then waited in silent expectation of the Goddess' intent made manifest, her hands outstretched over them. 

Slowly she became aware of a small focus of wrongness beneath her hands. Guided by that sense, she lifted up one of the small trinkets, a woven leather chain, from which dangled an enamelled copper medallion. The patterns on the copper disc bore no resemblance to any magical signs or symbols - to her eye, they were purely ornamental. Neither disc nor chain bore any visible sign of worship of a darker deity. The thing itself was not evil, so far as she could feel, but her inner senses spoke insistently to her, saying that it bore some connection to Sherren's problems. Yet no matter the nature of that connection, it was hardly the sort of talisman that could have brought about the effects Sherren had described. A smaller mystery within the greater. She did not have the gift or the knowledge to either see into the past of the object itself, or to trace the link that spun out from it to its source that, along with a scan of the girl herself, would require Nemhain's gifts. 

She set the thing aside in the grass to question Sherren about it later, and turned her attention once more to the pile of things in front of her. But now, there was nothing to disturb her inner senses. She waited, praying once again for guidance, but all that remained was the pleasant warmth of the sun on her raised arms. Ending her prayer, she glanced at the sundial. 

[insert material on counselling session… something like hearing confession, but less patriarchal, hierarchical]

Quickly she repacked all of Sherren's things save for the copper medallion. This she wrapped in a square of magically insulated cloth she had begged from one of the novice priest-mages, and slipped into her pocket. Getting to her feet, she picked up the retied bundle, and went back into her room. Setting the bundle down, she released the privacy chain and opened her door. 

[insert sequences with various people – priests in the guidance chapel or whatever I’m going to call it, interview with the general’s “double” – remember reference to “ornate silver ring set with carved, dark stone” – then meeting with Tabhair]

[On return to her room:]

Two messages were waiting for her. The first, sent by Alizen, let her know that Sherren had woken up, that Alizen had sent for food for both of them, and that Alizen was entertaining the stranger - and would keep her in her assigned quarters until Rayva arrived. The second message, a sealed note from Nemhain, said simply "Wards set. You were right."


	4. Background and Character sketches

Synopsis:

Background:

The novel is set in the Golden Empire. The current ruling house has begun to show signs of serious decadence, using their power for personal gain and ignoring the needs of the Empire they govern. The growing weakness of the Empire has encouraged raiding from beyond the frontier by unassimilated tribes (not all human) while support for the frontier garrisons is becoming scarcer. (see late Augustan Dynasty, Rome, for political parallels).  
In addition to the political situation, there is a concurrent, though not yet public, power struggle within the Mages Guild, which has by tradition been strictly apolitical and devoted to the advancement of knowledge and the service of the people. A small number of mages have been secretly studying forbidden branches of magic which have the capacity to influence, possess, wound, and kill. Several mages on the Guild Council, unprepared for such attacks, have been killed by the actions of this group, although murder is not yet suspected.

Major Characters:

Tabhair niCaryn: 35, priestess/adept of the martial arts, member of the Tighe anHwan, an ancient society of warrior-priests sworn to the service of the Golden Empire. Adepts serve as royal bodyguards, couriers, military tacticians, intelligencers, and other such occupations. There is a secret inner Circle of the society, which goes beyond serving the current Emperor, to serving the needs of the Empire itself, which has in the past meant overthrow of a ruling house which has overstepped the bounds of power. Tabhair is a junior adept of the inner circle, and thus involved in the internal politics of the Empire. This function of the society is not known or even suspected by anyone outside the order. In her public capacity, Tabhair serves as aide to the Imperial Council. Her duties range from carrying secret military orders, observing and reporting on the conduct of Imperial officers in the performance of their duties, handling royal security, acting as military tribunal, etc.   
Her current mission from the Imperial council is, ostensibly, to report on the suitability for advancement of a frontier province General, who by chance happens to be the descendant of a cadet branch of the current ruling house. In fact, certain members of the ruling house are looking for reasons to have her executed for treason, because she does have a claim to the throne, and she's just too damn popular. niCaryn's underlying mission given by the inner circle, is to use her overt mission and position to evaluate this same general to determine if she is worthy to be given the throne if the political situation deteriorates to the point that the Tighe are compelled by their inner imperitives to become kingmakers once again. 

Sharin: 24, apprentice Mage. She has just failed her examinations and been cast out of the Guild, despite appaerent technical proficiency. The grounds for her expulsion are the recommendations of her two teachers, who have returned an unsatisfactory verdict based on, they say, personality traits which make her unsuitable to wield the powers of a mage. She is   
distressed, ashamed, confused - with reason, as she has been falsely accused. Her teachers are in fact practitioners of dark magics, and they have been attempting unsuccessfully to take control of her will, as her magical potential is in fact one of highest ever seen in the Guild. Failing to control her, or convert her - she is in fact so innocent she has not even realized that they had made attempts to "turn her to the dark side" - they have eliminated her from the Guild. She has been Sealed - a magical procedure in which a partly trained mage's powers are blocked, so that they cannot be used. Fortunately for our story, her teachers, in badmouthing not only her character but her abilities, caused the Guild masters to decide that only a low level spell was needed to Seal her. Her innate power is such that this Seal will evenually wear out - and is indeed showing signs of weakening as the story opens.  
Too ashamed to return home and face the disappointment of her family, who sacrificed much of their own comforts to be able to send her to a Mage Guild School, Sharin


End file.
